


Before and After

by redborya



Series: Everything In It's Right Place [2]
Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Adult Boris Pavlikovsky, Adult Theodore Decker, Boreo Fix-It, Boreo Happy Ending, Boreo Kisses, Canon-Complaint, Canon-Typical TW's, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Getting Sober, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, The Goldfinch, adult boreo, adult boris - Freeform, adult theo - Freeform, boreo, boreo fluff, coming to terms, idk how to tag, lots of yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redborya/pseuds/redborya
Summary: Sequel/Epilogue to "Little Bird"--Month's after Theo's impromptu trip to the Netherlands Theo resigns himself to one thing. Finding happiness. With time spent getting sober and tying up as many loose ends he can, Theo (not so) slowly, but surely, comes to terms with both his sexuality and his feelings for Boris.--Basically, Boris and Theo deserve a happy ending and if Donna won't give it to them I will.
Relationships: Kitsey Barbour/Tom Cable, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Series: Everything In It's Right Place [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141223
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> "Suddenly you're ripped into being alive. And life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror, but my god you're alive and it's spectacular."  
> -Joseph Campbell

**_January_ **

It’d been a stupid thing to promise. Completely spontaneous. His face flushed and hands shaking as he stood in an airport, surrounded on either side by swarms of strangers boarding red-eye flights to travel across the country. Or in Theo’s case, at gate 102, across the Atlantic. With a cup of ridiculously overpriced coffee in hand and growing increasingly more annoyed by the second, Theo had made a promise. Not to Boris, Hobie, Kitsey, or anyone else for that matter. It was a stupid, utterly ridiculous promise he had made to himself, one that he planned to follow through regardless. With a huff and swallowing a scalding mouthful of coffee, Theo promised himself, upon landing in New York, to get sober. After the month he’d had and the insurmountable amount of loose ends to tie up in his own life, it felt next to impossible. 

The first thing Theo had done when arriving back at Hobie’s, at four in the morning on a Wednesday no less, was dig through his darkened bedroom and promptly flush every pill and powder prescription he had down the toilet. It wasn’t much, probably only enough to get him through the week if he kept at the rate he was going, but for some reason, Theo found himself dead-set on going cold-turkey. The morning after, it was no surprise things were tense with Hobie. He’d walked down the stairs and looked as if he’d seen a ghost once he laid eyes on Theo at the kitchen table, slumped over and jet-lagged with a cup of tea. Hobie didn’t pry or push for any of the details surrounding the trip, which Theo was eternally grateful for, nor did he comment on the state of withdrawal Theo experienced the following weeks. The entirety of January was hell to say the absolute least.

**_February_ **

It was hard getting sober. Harder than Theo had expected, but he had done it. By the time Valentine’s day had come and passed, he had been nearly two months sober, save for the occasional cigarette and a glass of wine at dinner. That same month he eventually told Hobie about The Goldfinch. It was late one night after they had gotten home from an auction in the Upper East Side. The series of confessions had burst from Theo without warning, over two-fingers of bourbon Hobie insisted on drinking to bring the evening to a close. Hobie sat at one end of the table and Theo on another as Theo told stories of Vegas as well as that day at the MET, of Kitsey and Tom and the events that had taken place in Amsterdam, carefully skirting around a handful of details he’d been too embarrassed to admit. Like that night in the parking garage where Theo had shot Martin, or the exchange at the pool in Amsterdam, as well as Boris’s final goodbye. From that moment onward, with Hobie no longer in the dark, things had begun to appear as if they’d turn out alright. Theo was no longer alone and isolated on his winding path towards; for lack of a better word, _happiness._

Despite what Theo expected, after two months of sobriety, the nightmares never went away. However, ever since getting clean, it was obvious snorting pills and swallowing shot after shot did next to nothing to keep them at bay. If anything, they only made them worse. Now, when Theo woke gasping and choking on air, drenched in a cold sweat and bedsheets tangled around him, he no longer craved for the bliss a Xanax could bring or the burn of alcohol down his throat. Though he wishes he could forget it all for a moment, he opted to bury his face into a sleeping Popper’s fur, counting breaths and straining his ears for the tell-tale sound of a car horn or Hobie’s snoring to ease him back to sleep. Each time he woke the next morning if he remembered having a nightmare at all, sober and Popper curled tightly into his side it felt like a victory, an assurance that he could live without the crutch that he’d depended on since he was thirteen. He was alive. He was sober, and above all else; happiness didn't feel that far away anymore. 

  
  


**_March_ **

Theo had met Kitsey for lunch a week after Saint Patrick’s day, some Italian restaurant that could easily be mistaken for an Olive Garden if you read the sign wrong before entering. It wasn’t a date, they hadn’t had one of those since Theo had confronted Kistey about Tom, but just two people meeting for lunch. Kitsey hadn’t even taken a seat before asking Theo what was on his mind, and he had taken the opportunity to say the words on the tip of his tongue ever since their engagement. 

_“What you said, about not knowing what it’s like to love the wrong person- you’re right. I don’t know” Theo had clasped her hands in his, smiling in a way he hoped seemed apologetic and not too joyful, “But I don’t want to keep you from being happy, Kitsey. If you really do love Tom, you should be with him. Not me, no matter what your mother or Platt or what anybody else thinks,”_

He didn’t know what to expect, but he was beyond surprised when she broke into a smile, squeezing his hands and tilting her head to the side with a gentle _“Oh, Theo.”_

The next day she had arrived at Hobart and Blackwell’s, just after closing time, with the brightest smile Theo had ever seen on her. A genuine smile. She seemed more at ease. Relaxed. Maybe it was in his head or maybe it wasn’t, but she had more of a spring in her step, her shoulders further back and head held higher, her long blonde hair neatly curled, and her eyes seemed alive instead of the cold icy-blue Theo was accustomed to. In her arms, Kitsey had a small tote of Theo's things, a tote much like one of the old storage bins Theo and his mother shoved all their Christmas decorations into and tucked away in the closet until next December. Kitsey set it inside the door and gave Theo a swift hug and pecked his cheek before promptly turning away and disappearing down the street. Hobie happened upstairs minutes after the fact, smiling knowingly and gave a suggestive quirk of his eyebrow towards the tote Kitsey dropped off. Upon inspection, when Theo opened it later in his bedroom, there was a handful of sweaters and books he’d left at her place with a neat little envelope on top signed with a heart over the “i” in her name. Inside the envelope was a quick thank-you letter, a well-wish, and the promise to keep in touch. An invitation to visit for dinner with the Barbours and at the bottom, weighty in his palm were as his mother’s emerald earrings, tucked inside with bubble-wrap around them for good measure.

**_April_ **

April had arrived that year with an abundance of rain. More often than not did people end up tumbling inside of the shop to seek shelter from the rain, puttering around and dragging their fingers over pine and cherry, tracing the grains of elm with their fingernails and brushing against expertly weathered chairs of hickory in their wanderings before bidding Theo a good afternoon and disappearing into the cold, grey, waterlogged New York streets and hazy streetlights. 

In April, _Before_ had begun to take a new meaning in Theo’s mind. On the nights he allowed himself to let his mind wander as he laid in bed, scratching absently behind Popper’s ears the word slowly took on a new meaning entirely. Theo had always been afraid of what he would find if he allowed his mind to wander for too long, wary of what he would inevitably realize. Over the past months, since that conversation beside the pool with Boris, their breath warm in the freezing air and cigarette smoke thick in his lungs, did Theo begin to realize that he no longer had anything to fear. The want to feel again, to reach for happiness, even if it meant crossing the border from before and into after, no longer felt like a betrayal to his mother. From those nights, accompanied only by Popper’s muffled snores and the hum of the city outside his bedroom window, did the notion of _Before_ ; once seeming as if it would be permanently tied to his mother, begin to fall away. One of those nights, the only evidence of the world around him was the sliver of the moon visible between the blinds, was when Theo realized he had long crossed the border into _After._ It was impossible to pinpoint when it had happened, maybe it was the second he’d left the MET, ears ringing and painting in hand, or when he’d boarded the plane back to America from the Schiphol Airport, or someplace between. His entire life blurred together into a misshapen mess of _Before’s_. _Before_ his mother’s death, _Before_ Vegas, _Before_ his return to New York, _Before_ Amsterdam, _Before_ getting sober. Theo realized, drowsy with sleep and book forgotten on his lap, that his entire life seemed like a premonition to those nights in April. Nights when the rain lashed against his bedroom windows and the occasional boom of thunder rattled the books left on his nightstand. Those hours before sleep, fingers curling in Popper’s fur, when he allowed his mind to wander and drive him _forward_ rather than keeping him tethered to who he _thought_ he had used to be, did Theo realize who he felt he was _supposed_ to be.

Theo realized, maybe because of those nights, or the peace they brought him, that he loved the sound of rain.


	2. Which Was - Of Course - I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I have to say is, it's not a Goldfinch fic unless there's a chapter of Theo struggling with his sexuality.

Theo woke with a crushing weight settled on his chest. Air wheezed in and out of his lungs with gasping breaths, body slowly curling on itself. Days like these were inevitable. The sinking feeling in his gut tying him to his bed like an anchor, sheets twisted around him, sticky with days-old sweat. The thought of doing so much as putting on his glasses caused his heart to jump wildly in his chest with anxiety. This morning, in particular, it felt like his chest was caving in on itself, each rasp of air like a painful blow to the gut. His nights were always fitful, endless hours trapped somewhere between consciousness and sleep with continuous tossing and turning, and those rare moments when his mind did settle, and he allowed himself to slip into the black, the calm was only temporary, fear heavy in his heart. Nightmares were normal enough, searing heat and the inability to breathe, choking on the air that’s stilled in his lungs and the feeling of dust and drywall thick on his tongue. But this morning Theo woke with the images his mind allowed him to bring with him from sleep to his panicked awake state sent his heart hammering in his chest. His dream had been tangled with images of the Goldfinch, blown into splinters from a singular bullet-hole in the middle. When he’d go to pick it up to assess the damage the pieces. When he saw his hands they were thick with blood, staining what was left of the painting. Worry filled every thought as he twisted and turned, the world around him dark save for the Goldfinch and he grew ever more desperate to find _who_ the blood belonged to, even though part of his mind already knew.

When Theo finally found the strength to sit up in bed, dirty blankets falling around his waist, the sunlight was painfully harsh, even with it partially blocked by the blinds. The urge to lay back down and bury his head into his pillow stronger than ever but, as he was constantly reminded, getting up was important. Even though it was painful as hell, Theo threw all of his faith that it would help him feel better. So, not at all ready to face his reflection and without the energy to shower, Theo slowly made his way down the stairs, breathing a sigh of relief to see Hobie had already made his way into the workshop for the day, leaving Theo with free-range of the kitchen without the prying eyes, not that Theo was hungry, but it was a breath of fresh air to be somewhere other than his bedroom. Popper nipped at his heels as he wandered around, opening and closing cupboards in search of a coffee mug.

By late afternoon Theo had somewhat pulled himself together, which was more than he could say for the days prior, and that in itself gave him a small burst of pride. The afternoon was spent with Hobie in the workshop, alternating between aiding in the staining of a piece, offering critique, and flipping through a book he had carried with him. Despite his attempts, between the hours spent in bed trying to sleep, helping to stain furniture, and straining to focus on his book, Theo was unable to avoid the sinking feeling in his gut.

As much as he wanted to ignore it, as much as he _tried_ , during days like these Theo could almost feel the presence of his father near him, a lingering memory that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His words filling Theo’s ears and poisoning every thought. Similar such things heard on the street, comments made by Chance Barbour when Theo was young and spending the night at Andy’s. They all swirled in his mind, tormenting him with not only what they were saying but what it implied. All too often did Theo hear the snide comments strewn across his childhood like a blaring warning sign for what was to come, the conclusion Theo would eventually draw has been staring him down since he was old enough to grasp what fuelled his father’s seemingly random hatred towards strangers. 

Larry had always been one to make his opinions known and when in New York, surrounded on either side as people streamed past vying for a taxi, Theo’s father always seemed to find one person he liked the least. He would resort to gripping Theo’s shoulder harshly and directing his son’s attention towards them, rattling off everything wrong with their appearance, down to the way they stood while flagging down a cab. Larry turned his nose up at any sort of accessory on a man that was outside of a watch, it had to be a nice watch too, Theo had noted, or the rare wedding band of an acceptable thickness. Too thin and it looked _gay_ , Larry had always said that word with a certain resentment in his voice reserved only for people that were anything other than straight. Or, if the wedding bangs too thick he’d turn to Theo who stood wide-eyed and frowning, trying to put together his father’s reasoning. Larry would laugh and comment on how the man in question might very well be under-compensating for something. 

Something that truly bothered Theo though, something that still bothers him to this day, happened one morning when he was eleven years old. Audrey had been busy at work and Larry was taking Theo to a dentist appointment. It was close enough to their apartment building that Larry insisted on walking, grumbling about wasting money on a taxi. On their walk they had passed a couple, not the first of their morning walk, sure, there were plenty in somewhere as populated and alive as New York, but the couple in question were two men, arm’s around one another’s waists, exchanging a chaste kiss. It was innocuous enough, Theo wouldn’t even have spared a second glance if not for his father. Larry had tugged Theo closer by the scruff of his neck as they passed like the men were dangerous. Larry sped forward towards them, only pausing to spit at their feet. Theo almost opened his mouth to ask why Larry had done it, but the line drawn between his brows and the frown set deeply into his face was enough to make Theo swallow his question. Simply, being _a queer_ , as his father explained to when Theo asked about it later that day, seemed to be an abomination. Larry just excused it as being old-fashioned. 

“Hobie?” Theo shuts his book with a snap, suddenly back in the workshop and out of his thought. Theo slides his novel onto the top of a 1902 Hoffman piece, some sort of cabinet that was waiting to be stained. Hobie lifted his eyes from where he’s sanding a mahogany dresser. He quirks an eyebrow before rising from his crouched position and setting down his sanding, dusting his hands off and turning his attention to Theo. The concern on his face evident, Theo _had_ spent the last four days locked in his bedroom, shouting in his sleep and hollowed out on the rare occasion Hobie had brushed past his room while he was awake. “Can I ask you a question?”Theo continues. At the request Hobie’s face softens, a small smile tugging at his lips as he picks up the sanding block again, eyeing the piece before resuming. Talking was always either for the both of them when there was something else to occupy their hands. Theo settled on picking at the bunches of lint scattered on the old sweater he’d thrown on after his shower. 

“Fire away,” Hobie’s tone is soft, gentle, it makes Theo’s stomach twist in fear he was going to put a damper on Hobie’s mood with what he’s about to ask. Still, he’d spent long enough tip-toeing around things, and Hobie certainly wouldn’t get angry at Theo for being curious. 

“Were you and Welty,” Theo gestures broadly in the air, “Ever, you know. _More_ than business partners?” He pauses and Hobie furrows his brow, his hand falling still and gripping the edge of the dresser, “I’m sorry for asking I was only wondering,”

Hobie quickly bats off Theo’s apology, “I’m not angry Theo, you just caught me off guard.” Hobie laughs under his breath, “Yes. We were,” and that seems to be the end of it when Theo prods onwards, fighting the words of his father whispering in his ear. Hobie is like a father to him, much more than Larry had ever been, even while present still present in his and his mother’s life. Why should he have any reason to listen to Larry, whose long gone and silver-tongued liar through and through than Hobie, who’d been nothing but honest than Theo first met him? 

“So, the ring he gave me. In the museum. Was that-” The words catch in Theo’s throat. The time spent with Welty in his final moments, his dying wish to return the ring to Hobie, makes Theo’s stomach clench, the sound of explosion ring in his ears as he remembers. Hobie nods solemnly. Setting down his sanding block once again Hobie pulls up a chair, plopping down a good couple feet away from Theo, sighing with relief as he finally straightens his legs and gets off his feet for the first time in what Theo guesses, a good few hours.

“We were married. Technically anyway. All that was missing were the legal documents. The rings were enough for us. It was as traditional as people like us could get at the time. Our generation was not as-” he falters for a moment, scratching at his chin and turning his head to face the small windows, nearly touching the basement ceiling but at street level of the world outside. Miraculously they were still filtering in the bright summer sun, “Not as _accepting_ as are people now. We were happy together. That was enough for us and we didn’t need documents to show for it.”They lapse into a brief silence when Hobie offers a small smile. Theo plows on, encouraged by Hobie’s openness about these things like it wasn’t some abominable secret he’d kept from Theo on purpose, but only because Theo had failed to ever ask.

“How did you know? That you were,” Theo makes another sweeping gesture of his arm, cocking his head. Hobie exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks before shaking his head, another warm chuckle that puts Theo at ease like this was a normal conversation to have, not something dirty or _wrong_ like it's always been made out to be before. 

“Well, I didn’t wake up one day and just know, Theo. It took me a while to come to terms with it myself, and it wasn’t an easy process either.” Hobie turns his gaze back to Theo, something behind his eyes flickering through, a ghost of sadness, or a fond memory, Theo can’t tell the difference. “I hated myself for a while. Buried things deep down thinking that if I could ignore it, if I could turn a blind eye things would just, go away.” Hobie glances down at his hands folded in his lap, “But then I met Welty and I-” He huffs, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Tell me if I say too much Theo,” he drops his hands back down, arms going limp, “I’m just trying to be honest with you,”

“It’s okay, I’d rather have honesty.”

“Honesty rather than what?”

“Rather than a lie." Hobie nods thoughtfully, eyes studying Theo, a weighty steadiness to them.

“Well, to get to the point, when I met Welty I didn’t want that part of me to go away. Welty, he made me feel proud. Like I didn’t have anything to be ashamed of or hide.” Hobie sighs, lips tightening into a thin line before shaking his head, tired eyes and wrinkles that have carved into his forehead highlighted by the light creeping inside as the sun sinks lower, dusk crawling closer as the five o'clock rush roars to life outside with the sound of a car horn. Hobie shakes his head once like he’s snapping himself out of a winding train of thought before continuing. “Theo, if you find anything like that, please don’t let it slip through your fingers. There isn’t a day that goes by without missing Welty. It’s as if there’s something always missing. It doesn’t matter who it is though. A man, a woman, something in between or neither, but do not let that person go. It only happens so often that you find someone like Welty.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry I only-”

“It’s okay, just promise me this much. That when you find that person, do only what makes you both happy. That you’ll try and keep them in your life as long as you can. Your happiness is above all else Theo, and no one is in the position to tell you if it’s okay to have that happiness or not.”

“Hobie,” There’s something thick in Theo’s throat. Like there’s not enough air in the warm, musty basement. The ache in his chest throbbed painfully. A pain as old as he could remember. This ache, wedged between his ribs, has sat private and guarded, boxed away and compartmentalized to the point if Theo dared to do as much as acknowledge it sent, it Theo into a panic. The notion that someone out there might know of it one day, the thing he held private and only himself knew about made him feel sick. The secrecy of its existence essential to who Theo was. The truth of it was buried deep in his bones no matter how much as he tried to convince himself otherwise. Every instinct he had screamed to keep the next sentence that sat poised on the tip of his tongue to stay tucked away. It was stupid to give it away, to open his mouth and expose himself so readily when he had no intention of doing so twenty minutes earlier. He was a fucking idiot but he pushed forward. He had to. He was tired of waiting for life to happen to him, waiting for happiness to come when he needed to be the one to take those steps. Theo was tired of waiting for standing on the edge between the present and the future, aching for that push into happiness know that when it comes he would be digging his feet into the ground. He was tired and quite honestly, he was fucking sick of keeping himself from happiness. The words Boris had said, eyes watering and cheeks wet with tears, _You Potter, cannot be happy. You keep yourself from it. You will die from that one of these days, I know it_ felt painfully real.

“Hobie, I think I have. Found that person and I” his throat tightens, “I don’t know what to do.”

It wasn’t a secret Theo missed Boris. Not to himself the second he heard the words leave his mouth, the things kept buried and hidden in his mind clicking into place. He’d long stopped denying what they had meant to one another in Vegas, but the true gravity of things weighed down on his shoulders. Boris was one to never shy away from physical affection in their youth, rather choosing to act rather than translate what he felt, which left Theo more confused than not in the two years they had spent together. (A quick kiss on the back of Theo’s neck, a lazy gesture of affection as the air conditioning thrummed through Theo’s bedroom under the cover of darkness. The rushed kiss on the sidewalk in front of his house on Desert End Road. Boris’s hands on either side of his face, lips chapped and tasting of shitty beer before Theo clambered into a taxi. Nights spent with their arms wrapped around one another in the cover of darkness, sleepy snuggling motions as Theo clawed his way closer to Boris through the sheets, desperate for comfort and the feeling of skin against skin after the events of a night terror.) They were all reduced to wisps of memories in Theo’s mind but the feelings were there, painfully clear now, all compiled into snapshots from a much larger picture that Theo was once too afraid to grasp until it was staring him in the face.

Even after Amsterdam, Theo had found himself searching faces, people, wherever he could for a whisper of evidence that Boris would see him again, just as they promised with that final goodbye. Theo would often see a flash of unruly dark hair in the supermarket, disappearing behind a shelf before Theo could manage a second look, or the swish of a black coat turning the corner or a sharp bark of laughter somewhere in a crowd. Time was wasting away, the past five months, consciously or not, Theo spent looking for hints of him, of Boris, in every face. Theo longed to see him again, chest aching for the sight of him on the street, framed by neon lights, lopsided grin, and ridiculous black coat. However, the fear of confronting what Boris meant to him, both in Vegas and now, sent his heart stuttering in his chest. Hobie had found the words for him, put a name to what Theo felt for Boris. A random sunny afternoon in the workshop, dust floating in the beams of light and the smell of wood and chemicals hanging heavy in the air did Theo realize what he _truly_ felt. Of course, he loved Boris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless Hobie because this man is a saint for finally helping Theo figure his shit out.


	3. Boris From Vegas

Typically, holidays felt like obligations for Theo, a series of social rituals to complete over the course of a calendar year. He hadn’t expected much for this Easter, but when Pippa had called early in the month of March, hinting towards flying over to New York with Everett to celebrate Easter as a family, his plans of doing absolutely nothing to celebrate were dashed in a matter of minutes. The mere thought of seeing Pippa face to face had his stomach in knots the days prior, nearly sick with anticipation for no reason whatsoever.

Theo and Pippa had been talking more consistently over the course of the last four months. Phone calls became a daily occurrence, hours spent listening to the other ramble about their day, their pasts, joking around in a way Theo wished they had been able to do sooner. She would always answer when Theo called, filling the silence by chattering away about anything and everything that crossed her mind, books she's read, a new band she stumbled across, little things like that. Theo was more than happy to listen, willing to make amends to their relationship by being a good friend, even a shoulder to lean on if the situation were to ever arise. Pippa would always prod Theo into talking as well, easing into a steady pattern of banter that Theo supposed was normal between friends, something to mend the divide he'd inadvertently created between them in his senseless pining. 

Pippa, Theo had realized over those long phone calls, was nothing more than a friend. A close friend, sure, but just a friend and nothing more. Without the permanent fog of grief and assortments of pills that impaired each and every thought to cross his mind, he had come to the conclusion that his supposed “love” for Pippa was a childhood obsession. Theo wouldn’t even go as far as to compare his past feelings for her to that of a childhood crush. In his concussed and grief-stricken mind, he’d carefully crafted the divide of Before and After with Pippa was his only remaining tie to Before. A living and breathing tie to those final moments with his mom, and he clung to it in those moments at the Barbours before Vegas when it felt as though Pippa was still in reach, falling more in love with the idea of what Pippa represented than who she was. 

* * *

They’d spent that Easter dining at a relatively new Steakhouse uptown, per Hobie’s request, saying something or other about it being a special occasion to have them all together, and they should celebrate as such. Theo and Everett sat at opposite ends of the table, chatting amiably enough and without any sense of lingering resentment, even if that thinly veiled distaste for one another that was once between stemmed entirely from Theo’s childish jealousy. The four of them talked into the late hours of the night, the only lull in conversation due to bites of filet and sips of wine. They ended up polishing off an entire bottle of _Cabernet Sauvignon_ over the course of their meal, leaving the restaurant pleasantly flushed and only the slightest bit wobbly. Theo was the best off out of all of them, his tolerance still not quite to that of a normal person's, but enough to allow the wine to tingle in his veins. 

It was a pleasant dinner, better than what Theo could have ever expected. Catching up with everyone in the dim lights of the restaurant, his stomach full, and his mind pleasantly fuzzy filled him with a sense of normality that he had been grasping for. Even when he noticed that Pippa seemed to cling to Everett throughout their entire meal, even if was just a hand on his shoulder, or their fingers entwined resting on the white tablecloth or a chaste kisses on the cheek after one of Hobie's many toasts, Theo was pleased to find he wasn’t sick with envy, and jealousy was the last thing on his mind. He was genuinely happy for the two of them, and the smile that stretched across his face came to him just as easily as breathing for the first time in what felt like a long time. 

Theo insisted on picking up the check, much to Hobie's distaste, and claimed it to be his treat for a good month at the store. Everett clapped him on the back with a quick thank you on their way out of the restaurant, winding around other tables with families dining at them, and Pippa gave him a quick hug as well, as well as a comment about how he seems much happier tonight than she's ever seen him, to which he responded with a jerk of his chin back towards the restaurant and a quirk of his eyebrow, "Must have been the wine, Pip." which earned him a playful slap on the bicep as they reached the double glass doors leading them back into the city. 

The street lights reflected on the slick blacktop of the street, reds, yellows, and greens melted in the puddles alongside reflections of vibrant Easter displays in shop windows. All around Theo, shoe heels slid and scuffed on the pavement, mingling with laughter and light-hearted conversations. The air was thick with the smell of rain from the storm earlier in the day, and the night had taken on a crisp, cool quality that betrayed the early spring weather, feeling similar to that of an autumn day. Tugging his coat closer around himself Theo shivers briefly. The din of conversation from inside the restaurant they had just left suddenly snaps off as the door closes. Inhaling deeply and feeling the cool air fill his lungs, Theo finally inches his way out onto the sidewalk. Distantly he hears the scratch of Pippa’s heel’s against the wet concrete and turns his head just in time to see Pippa giggling and clinging onto Everett’s arm to steady herself, Hobie gripping at her elbow. He snorts at the sight, Pippa nearly resigning herself to walking home barefoot when Everett wraps an arm around her waist, claiming he'd guide her the rest of the way home. 

Despite Pippa's obvious detest for walking in heels, they decide to walk home from dinner instead of hailing a cab. Pippa even insists, hell-bent on showing off the night-time wonders of New York City to Everett. Hobie is quick to agree, puffing out his chest and claiming it’s always good to get some fresh air, even if Theo was fairly certain that any of the air in New York was anything but fresh, and Pippa buts in with a quip about Hobie spending all his time breathing in sawdust and chemicals in the workshop. They were a good few blocks away from home, a good half-hour walk, but the cool air was sobering, shaking Theo awake as they pushed through clusters of people, peering in windows of bookstores and displays on the way. Theo falls back easily, more than happy to meander behind the group in a sleepy daze from his full stomach and good wine. 

It isn’t until the faint scent of cigarette smoke drifts past does Theo stop in his tracks. It was innocuous enough, not anything out of the ordinary to smell when walking through New York, but for some reason, it sets him on edge. His fingers twitch at his side, eyes sweeping across the swarms of people, instantly scolding himself for the long-standing habit of scanning crowds even when nothing is amiss. He never knows for certain what he's searching for when he does so, but when his eyes catch sight of a figure plowing through the masses, cutting through the waves of city-goers effortlessly, something rings faintly in the back of his mind. Theo only manages a glimpse when the crowd shifts, and within seconds Theo finds himself shoving forward, past the mob and into the gap between groups where the figure stalks down the sidewalk. 

The broadness of the shoulders, even the cadence of the way the man in front of Theo walks is enough to make his chest clench painfully. The dark curls, overgrown and unruly, long enough to almost reach the collar of his coat allows only for the smallest flash of the pale expanse of his neck. The curve of his fingers around the cigarette in his hand, flicking ash onto the ground next to him, the rings on his hands catching in the warm street lights, it all hits Theo at once. Too many times has his mind played this exact trick on him, picking apart the smallest details of a stranger for something that is a vague reminder of Boris. It was New York for fuck's sake, but he couldn't help but convince himself, each and every time he saw a mop of curly hair, or the swish of a long black coat, that it _had_ to be Boris. Each time it s his sent heart thudding in his chest, fear and excitement coursing through him as he reaches out to grasp a shoulder, usually to be met with a disgruntled stranger quickly shoving him off with a series of curses. He's fairly surprised he hasn't been punched yet for the number of times he's done such a thing. Still, at this moment he allows himself to hope, forgetting those behind him, lunging forward.

“Boris!” It’s not a question as Theo shouts it, desperate to be heard over the blaring horns and the other various conversations pressing in on Theo from all sides. He’s desperate for his voice not to waver when the man stops, cigarette halting halfway to his mouth. He spins around to face Theo, foot traffic shoving him on either side, a series of grunts from other pedestrians at the two men who both stopped in their tracks in the middle of a crowded pathway.

_Boris._

Inky curls plastered onto his forehead with either sweat or rain from the hour previous, it's next to impossible to tell, the dark circles under his eyes stand out in stark contrast to his pale skin even from ten feet away. His cheeks are flushed slightly, whether from drinking or the cold Theo has yet to find out. He looks skinnier, sicker than the last time they had seen one another but he’s here. Boris is _here._ In New York. He’s in New York and he's _alive_ and _smiling_ at Theo, laughing with his head thrown back and his Adam's apple bobbing. 

It’s tunnel-vision as Theo finds the will to get his feet moving again, rushing forward and coattails flapping behind him as he crashes into Boris, throwing his arms around him with full force, laughing loudly at the surprised “oomph” Boris lets out in response before flicking his cigarette to the side and returning the gesture, arms coming to wrap around Theo's back and grip onto his coat. 

“Is this really Theo?” Theo almost laughs out loud at the pronunciation of his name as it awkwardly slides out of Boris’s mouth. The way Boris’s chin digs uncomfortably into Theo's shoulder as he speaks sends a shiver down his spine. “Did not know he would actually be so happy to see me!” Boris pulls away first, holding Theo at an arm’s length away before pressing his thumbs underneath Theo’s glasses and tugging at the skin under his eyes, “How much drugs are you on?” His tone is light, joking as he squints to observe the white’s of his eyes and Theo’s pupils, shifting to rest his calloused palms on either side of Theo’s face, tilting his face from side to side. No matter how light-hearted or joking it is, Theo can’t help but lean into the touch. Boris, adjusting his grip on Theo's face, strokes his thumbs over Theo’s cheekbones before letting them fall back to his sides, moments before a hand lands on Theo’s back. 

Hobie squeeze’s Theo’s shoulder briefly, coming up to stand next to him with Pippa and Everett in tow, clearly puzzled by the stranger in front of them, who Theo had clung to almost instantly, and the man that had grabbed back without a second thought. 

“Hobie, Pip, Everett," Theo gestures to the three of them, "This is Boris.” There's a brief delay as Pippa shifts through her mind for some context, and Hobie's hand tightens its grip. “From Vegas,” Theo adds it as an afterthought when Hobie seems to be having difficulty to string things together. In a flash, something seems to click for Hobie and he’s gripping Boris’s hand, laughing and shaking his head and Pippa is untangling herself from Everett, quickly wrapping Boris in a hug. 


End file.
